CODE: Birthday Business
by The Jasper Raven
Summary: A very serious series of palace shenanigans. [connected oneshots written for #ffxvweek]
1. The Daily Tribulations of One Nyx Ulric

The Daily Tribulations of One Nyx Ulric

The alarm rang at six, but he'd been up since five. The droning peal was a leftover reminder that mornings had once been the most difficult part of his day. Now, it was a reminder to stop the sit-ups and start the jog. Libertus had once teased that if Nyx woke up any earlier, it would still be the previous day.

"Sleep is for the weak," Nyx had argued, and wound his alarm back another hour.

Pre-dawn light from an unseen sun tinted the city pale blue. Traffic was a scarce hiss, sighing faraway between buildings. Fellow glaives, perhaps, headed to the same place he was. Nyx stretched, zipped his hoodie, and challenged himself to beat the distant cars to the palace gates. He took off, sneakers barely making a sound on the silent street. Insomnia dreamed on around him.

The usual faces wished him a "good morning": unsmiling mannequins in dark department store windows, the clock face watching over the central square, a small flock of mangy birds swarming around restaurant dumpsters, and the prince's plucky blond friend that had no idea who Nyx was.

"Morning!" Prompto greeted, waving. Nyx raised his arm in acknowledgement as they passed, jogging in opposite directions.

The sun was slowly starting to brighten the 6AM gloom when he approached the bridge. It made Crowe's silhouette as dark as her namesake, perched atop the parapet. She leapt to her feet when she spotted him coming up over the curve of the bridge, and fell into step with his steady pace.

"Got a little spunk to your step this morning, Ulric," Crowe observed, smiling wryly. "Lookin' forward to today?"

"Just another day at the office," he said around his breaths, leveling with the rhythm of the jog.

"I'd say 'nice try,' but that was pitiful."

Nyx smiled and kept his eyes on the road ahead. A few more miles brought the sun over the city skyline and the two runners towards the royal palace. There was a café along the avenue ahead of the estate, favored among the Caelum staff for its convenient proximity to their work place. Crowe raced him in the last leg of their run, breaking from the brisk lope to sprint ahead. Nyx stumbled to catch up. He never did figure out how to anticipate her sudden bolts of speed. She beat him to the outdoor counter. Again. Coffee was on him. Double espresso for her; mocha for him.

The locker room was quiet aside from a couple earlier birds than them pecking about – senior officers that had seen enough shit in their careers to keep them from ever falling asleep. Crowe and Nyx changed into uniform between scalding gulps of caffeine. The rest of the kingsglaive slowly trickled into work as the morning continued to rouse the city. Tredd and Sonitus arrived shortly thereafter, Tredd dumping one already empty coffee cup in the garbage and starting in on the second, casting an envious glare at Sonitus. The man must have had caffeine pumping through his bloodstream to be that alert and awake without a single drop of coffee to sustain him.

Libertus shuffled in a while after them, weakly pawing at Nyx's palm when he offered it in greeting. Axis and Pelna piled in with the late crowd, the former wearing dark sunglasses and hunching away from the light with vampire resentment. Pelna smiled brightly at his fellows as he expertly steered his friend around the locker room, but the wash of cologne on the man couldn't hide the smell of the bar that woke up with the two of them.

By the time Titus marched through the common room to issue the day's instructions, every member of the glaive made a miraculously straight line for him to assess. Tredd had to elbow Axis a few times to keep him from slumping over, but otherwise, the commander was none the wiser. At least, not that he let on.

"We've got a full docket today," Titus informed them, booming voice making the hung-over members of the group flinch. "His Majesty, the King has ordered us to ensure that the day's activities go by without a hitch. The same request has been passed on from Her Highness, Princess Lunafreya. If one doesn't scare you into doing your jobs right today, two damn well better."

Nyx stubbornly ignored the wicked glance Crowe sent him at the mention of the princess. Titus went on to confirm said lady's security detail during her stay within the city. Two glaives were to stay with her at all times. If one was called away, another took their place. Standard procedure. The royal guard would have the palace on lock-down. The glaive was to coordinate and cooperate with them throughout the day. And _any_ issue, no matter how beneath their skill-set, was to be resolved if it was demanded of them.

"It has to be _perfect_ ," Titus emphasized. "Whatever it takes to make that happen, _do it_. I don't want to hear any bitching. Smile, nod, and do your jobs right. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!" the line shouted.

"Get to it."

The commander stalked off to do some more commanding someplace else, leaving the glaive to dispense the daily duties amongst themselves. They were all too eager to volunteer for the lovely Lady Lunafreya's security. Crowe expertly waded through the swamp of protests to appoint herself onto the first watch over the princess, and selected the only man in the group that wasn't bowling over his brothers like a slobbering dog to accompany her.

"It would be my honor," Luche said with a decorous salute.

Nyx hadn't even seen the guy come into work that morning. He'd had no idea Luche was even in attendance before he spoke. Nyx sent his sister-in-arms a betrayed look as Luche passed him by to take up position beside her. Crowe merely smiled.

 _Did you really think I'd make it easy for you?_ that smile said.

 _Challenge accepted_ , his said back.

His crush on the princess aside, Nyx didn't fail to remember what this day was really about. He volunteered to do a sweep of the estate. It would be good to squeeze a little more cardio into his regimen, anyway. There was a lot of ground to cover and even more people to check in on so, he quietly excused himself to the task.

The palace awakening was in full roar. The kitchens were clattering, the cleaners were scuttling, the gardeners were grooming the grass, and security guards were barking at every doorway, window, or crack in the wall. Business as usual amongst the esteemed Caelum staff. Nyx wasn't anticipating much in the ways of suspicious activity within the palace gates. The only guests invited within the castle that day were the princess and her lady-in-waiting, and the only other people that were appraised of the day's proceedings were the paparazzi. Despite their damndest efforts to the contrary, the cameramen always caught the scent that something was going on behind the palace gates. That's where Nyx was issued his first trial of the day.

"Hey, glaive! Do me a favor while you're out on the prowl?"

Gladiolus's voice demanded obedience without even forcing it. The man had a presence that was difficult to ignore, let alone refuse. There weren't many swords that Nyx feared being on the pointy end of but for Amicitia's blade. When Gladiolus asked you a favor, you damn well did that favor.

Nyx broke his circuit around the grounds to meet him. The big, built man was over-seeing a crowded gate, barking orders at some other guardsmen and rebuking remarks coming from the interlopers trying to push their way into the palace.

"Didn't know you were so popular in the tabloids," Nyx teased. "Are all those cameras just for you?"

"Better that they're not. Snap the leash on my ego if they were."

"There's a leash, sir?"

"Ha. Ha. Didn't know the glaive was full of comedians."

"That honor's mine alone, sir."

Gladiolus chuckled, and in the same breath issued a vicious barb at one of the photographers reaching through the gate. "Anyway," he said once the intruder had yelped and cringed into the throng – and Nyx was a little paler from the guy's residual fear. "While I could use a good laugh, that's not what I need from you. I lost track of the guys from Malboro News."

"The usual places, then?"

"Please and thank you. And, hey…given it's practically a holiday, treat yourself when you find 'em."

Gladiolus's smirk was positively predatory, and a sadistic glee filled Nyx upon being granted the permission. He saluted and trotted off, leaving Gladiolus to his thunderous wrath on the paparazzi.

The men of Malboro News were creatures of habit. They adamantly believed that they could trick security into thinking they'd never be stupid enough to try the same spot more than once. Too many spy movies – although Nyx was sure that even the heroes on screen were smarter than this.

"Would you get your foot out of my mouth?"

"If my foot's in your mouth how is it you can complain so much? Shut up and boost me higher!"

Nyx dropped down to a crouch behind the bushes along the fence. Predictably, the boys were trying to climb the corner, where an ancient tree hung its boughs outside of the property to entice the foolish into climbing inside. Anybody on security had come to refer to the tree as "Sunshine," as – like Icarus – the paparazzi flew too close to it. Nyx observed the pair from the shadow of the leaves for a moment. It was always entertaining when they visited the tree. It was like watching a viral video, mockingly tagged as "#fail." And besides, the pause gave him a chance to think of how he wanted to fulfill Gladiolus's order to "treat himself."

Nyx spun his dagger between his fingers while he thought. He sized up ol' Sunshine and waited for one of the photographers to scramble onto one of her branches to lower himself to the lawn. While the man was distracted with dusting grass from his jeans, Nyx threw his blade to the branch and warped to it, no louder than a whisper. The other photographer was clambering up the fence, eyes on the placement of his feet. Nyx stretched out along the branch, folding his arms behind his head and making himself at home while he waited.

You'd think the guy was climbing Mt. Evermore with how long it took him to reach the tree-branch. Nyx almost dozed off with how comfortable he'd gotten. The intruder hugged the branch, huffing in relief, before he noticed that he was groping Nyx's boot and not, in fact, a limb of the deciduous variety.

"Biggs, I didn't know you had a foot fetish!" Nyx said, bright as a toothpaste commercial.

The man screamed and lost his grip, tumbling through the leaves to crash into the back of his partner below. As much as he was enjoying the view of them scrambling apart like ants, Nyx leapt down to join them on the ground, stepping around them as delicately as a cat.

"Did you guys come all this way again just because you missed me?"

"Doesn't anyone else work here?" one of them grumbled around a mouthful of grass.

"Oh, I wouldn't trade this job with anyone."

He swept up one of the cameras that had rolled off during the collision to the utter panic of its owners. "Give that back!"

"Finder's keepers," Nyx sang, wiggling the expensive machine over their heads. One of them swiped for it, but Nyx casually spun out of reach to fiddle with the buttons.

"Damn, invasion of privacy really is a lucrative business, huh?" he observed, probing the intricate design of the camera.

"Come on, man, that cost me, like, ten paychecks!"

"Maybe this selfie can reimburse you."

Nyx turned the lens to face him, the paparazzi crawling on top of each other over his shoulder. He stuck out his tongue, put up his middle finger, and snapped a picture.

"There's the money shot!" he purred, admiring the image on the little digital screen. "What was I thinking, going into the glaive? This is obviously my true calling. That's A+ photography, right there."

He let one of them snatch back the hostage camera, satisfied that he'd appropriately rewarded himself for the job.

"Who's gonna be at the party, glaive?" one man hurried to ask.

"Family and friends only," he answered, taking the collars of their shirts in each hand.

"We got a tip that the Princess of Tenebrae will be in attendance," the other man said, stumbling behind Nyx as he dragged them along. "Is that true?"

"Sovereignty's been re-allowed in Tenebrae? Wow, you really do actual reporting? Because that was news to me."

"Come on, glaive, give us _something_! Who's bringing who? Who's wearing what?"

"Clothes, I certainly hope. Be a much different party if they weren't."

Nyx shoved them out the nearest gate, locking it shut behind them. "Try sneaking in here again and you're going to wish I was the only one working here. And I want a copy of that picture."

He stood at the gate until he couldn't see them beyond it anymore. No sooner had the pair vanished into the city than Nyx's next disaster howled past him.

"Somebody grab that dog!"

A fuzzy, dark blur sprinted across the yard, with a familiar brunette staggering after its tail. Iris Amicitia planted her palms against her knees, red-faced and gasping for breath while the prince's favorite four-legged companion fled into the yard.

"Umbra!" Iris called after the dog, voice wheezing with exhaustion. "Come on!"

"Tap out, kiddo. I can take it from here." Nyx gave her a consoling pat on the back.

Iris drew her face up from between her knees to rake a critical glance over the glaive. "Ulric, right? You're more than welcome to have a turn. _Do not_ let him reach the kitchen, though, got it? Ignis is gonna kill me if he gets in there…"

"I got you covered. Take a breather."

She gave him a weary thumbs up and collapsed right there in the middle of the grass. Nyx trotted off in the direction where Umbra had vanished. The big, bushy dog was an avatar for his master – a little bit cocky, a bit more rebellious, and a secret smoosh-ball. The only difference between them was that Umbra never seemed to sleep. Today was not the first that Nyx wished the prince could impart some of his love for slumber onto the animal.

He found Umbra sniffing along the west wall, his leash slithering in the dirt beneath his paws. For a heartbeat, the dog was oblivious to his presence and Nyx thought that he could use that to his advantage. No matter how quiet he forced his next step to be though, somehow, Umbra heard him. The dog's head snapped up to look at Nyx, ears pointed straight at him. Nyx froze and met Umbra's yellow stare.

"Hey," he greeted.

Umbra grinned and wagged his tail. Slowly, Nyx raised his hands and patted the air. "Sit," he tried. Umbra crouched down on his forelegs, the opposite reaction than Nyx had hoped for. He knew that his next command wasn't going to work before he even said it, but maybe he'd at least earn points for trying. He braced himself for the inevitability of failure, and said, "Stay."

Umbra barked and made a break for it, charging around the corner before Nyx had a chance to blink. He rushed after him, boots pounding across the lawn. Miles and miles circuiting the city every morning and it amounted to little when it was two legs against four. While he was failing to gain any ground on the animal, Nyx kept throwing out verbal commands in the hope that one of them would stick.

"Heel! Halt! Freeze! Cease and desist!" He even went so far as to try different languages, but if there was a secret code word to make the dog stop, it wasn't in any language Nyx knew.

His futile orders quickly turned to a volley of curses. He smelled the kitchen before he saw it, but not before Umbra caught a whiff of it. The outer doors were wide open to release some of the heat from the ovens, and Umbra immediately accepted that as an invitation to welcome himself inside.

"Incoming!" Nyx called out in a warning, just before Umbra leapt over the threshold.

An orchestra of shouting conducted itself from within the kitchen. Pots clattered, utensils clashed, but, mercifully, no glass shattered by the time Nyx swung into the doorway. Sous-chefs and servers alike were balancing dishes overhead and dancing clear of the dog's unstoppable trajectory. Nyx raced down the path they made in pursuit, tossing out variations of "sorry" and "I got this" to those he passed. He got less than agreeable responses thrown back at him, especially when Ignis spotted him from the center of the tumultuous kitchen. The man's usually placid face was absolutely thunderous.

"Glaive! What is the meaning of this? I gave Iris _one_ job…"

"My fault! I got this!" If he kept saying that, maybe it'd eventually come true.

Umbra started circling the big island at the center of the kitchen, where Ignis was meticulously crafting the night's star confection before being accosted. Umbra yapped excitedly, nails clicking on the tiled floor as he weaved around Ignis's legs. The tall man gripped the sides of the marble counter to restrain himself from reaching down and strangling the creature with its own leash.

Before he could be provided the opportunity, Nyx regained the dog's attention. While Ignis's presence in relation to Umbra translated to "please, feed me," Nyx's seemed to translate to, "oh, we're still playing!" Nyx skidded to one side of the island – opposite Ignis's volcanic glare – and watched the dog on the other side, waiting for him to make a move. Umbra danced left, then right, then back and forth again, and Nyx mirrored him, waiting to bar his way and catch him the second he tried to bolt again.

The dog was too damn smart for his own good, though. Just when Nyx thought he might know which way he was going to run, Umbra feinted one way, tricking the glaive into doing the same, then fled the other way while Nyx was off-balance. He swore and scrambled after him, ignoring the long-suffering sigh Ignis trailed after them.

Nyx finally saw his chance to catch the rambunctious beast when Umbra scurried beneath a long table. Nyx didn't stop to consider what Ignis would do to him when he jumped on top and slid down the table's length, disrupting all the myriad bowls of baking ingredients as he went. The slide brought him to the other end of the table just as Umbra was coming out from under it. Nyx landed on the dog's back, straddling him to the ground with a yelp of surprise.

There was a pause of blissful stillness as they both sat there, stunned. Nyx breathed heavy and barked out a laugh once his success finally registered. Umbra's bushy tail wagged. Not even defeat could dampen his spirits, it would seem. That, or he predicted that Nyx's pride would be short-lived. While the glaive was seizing his leash and patting himself on the back for a job well done, a stainless steel bowl teetered over the edge of the table above them. It fell and landed, neatly, on Nyx's head, up-turning its powder-white contents upon his uniform.

He heard a couple of serving girls giggle, sympathetically, from beyond the metal rim over his eyes. Umbra wriggled beneath him, trying to twist his head around to get a taste of the sugar and flower coating his playmate's jacket. The dog stilled immediately as Ignis lifted the bowl from Nyx's head. Neither man needed to meet the other's gaze in order to communicate their displeasure at the turn of events.

"Get out," Ignis said in an exasperated sigh.

* * *

Nyx shuffled along behind Umbra, letting the dog lead them through the palace halls. The dog had a bounce to his steps and held his head high, looking awfully smug about his day's adventure. Nyx, on the other hand, felt as though he'd just wrestled a behemoth and lost. The day wasn't even half over yet and he was worn to the bone. Pet-sitting took a lot out of a guy. Dealing with the paparazzi was a delight; dealing with Umbra was a nightmare.

The dog walked him around the palace for a while before he finally found a hall that seemed to be his destination. Umbra suddenly strained on the leash and Nyx made a sound caught between a whine and a sob as he was dragged behind him. Umbra brought them to the corner of an adjacent hall and gave Nyx half a second to look down it, panic, and flatten himself against the wall, almost choking poor Umbra with how quickly he jerked back.

"…like it'll be any better than the first two decades," Noctis was saying to his father.

"It might surprise you," Regis replied.

They hadn't noticed the brief glimpse of Nyx and Umbra before the glaive forced a retreat. He was still covered in splotches of flour, incriminating evidence of something going on in the kitchen. Umbra was not so suspiciously marked. Before he pulled his arm out of its socket or exposed him, Nyx unhooked the leash from Umbra's collar and let him trot down to his master. Nyx glanced around the corner just to make certain the dog wasn't making a run for it. He caught the prince's smile upon greeting Umbra before pressing himself back to the wall.

"Up to no good, Umbra?" he heard Noctis say, voice full of adoration. Nyx rolled his eyes. _Don't enable the animal._

"There's one good thing about it," Regis said. "It marks the start of another decade spent with him."

"Don't use my weakness to prove your point. That's cheating."

Their voices were getting closer, Nyx realized, prompting an endless banner of "shitshitshitshitshit" to stream across his brain like an emergency news broadcast. He scrambled for escape options, eyes flipping from one end of the hall to the other. There was a utility closet far off to his left, and in lieu of finding any place to run, he resolved for hiding. Nyx warped to the door, leaving a cloud of Nyx-shaped flour to disappear in the air. He managed to close himself inside the closet just as the royal duo and dog turned the corner.

"Do try to enjoy your day, son." The king's voice was just outside the door. "It only comes along once a year."

"It's only a day, like all the rest."

With that, the prince's melancholy words and Umbra's clicking steps faded from the hall, and Nyx could breathe a sigh of relief. That counted one bullet dodged.

A knock rapped at his door, then. Nyx cracked it open, first checking that the prince had in fact vacated the hall with his big, fluffy monster, before presenting himself to the king. To his credit, Regis managed to keep a straight face to spare Nyx's dignity from a laugh.

"Can I trust that everything is going smoothly?" he asked.

"As butter, Your Majesty," Nyx assured, batting at a smudge on his jacket that may have been said ingredient.

"Glad to hear it. Keep up the good work."

Nyx bowed to the king, but before Regis left him, he dabbed at one of the darker substances decorating the kingsglaive uniform.

"Chocolate?" he asked, rubbing the brown powder between thumb and forefinger.

"Black forest, I believe, sir."

Regis nodded in approval. "As you were."

As he was happened to be miserably tired. His feet dragged his slouching body back to the barracks for a change of clothes. A couple people that he passed by chuckled at his state of dishevelment, and he didn't have the energy to snap at them for it. The only other people that had enough manners not to laugh at him were the last three ladies he'd ever wish to present himself to in such an embarrassing state.

"Nyx!" Crowe called from beneath an arch across the yard. "Come over here and cover me for a sec."

Why did the powers-at-be seek to mortify him in such a manner? Could they not spare him from just an ounce of humiliation today? Princess Lunafreya's smile was sympathetic to his haggard appearance as he approached, and somehow that was worse than having her mock him for it.

"What happened to Luche?" he asked Crowe, trying to dust off as much cake flour as he could.

"A disaster, as I'm sure you're familiar with. Now, I get a turn for one, too. Don't leave the princess."

"What happened to 'two's the rule?'" he asked, but Crowe was already halfway gone, rushing off to her designated disaster.

"She's as good as any glaive!" she shouted over her shoulder, gesturing.

Nyx had failed to notice the Lady Gentiana at first, standing concealed in Luna's shadow – or acting _as_ her shadow.

"Milady," Nyx greeted. The woman nodded without a word, wearing a silent smile. "Your Highness." He bowed to the princess, feeling his back creak as he did so. Shouldn't have slammed down on that table slide so hard.

"It's good to see you again, Nyx. Having an eventful day?"

"'For hearth and home,'" he recited, more to remind himself than to answer her.

Nevertheless, the mantra seemed to suit Luna's agenda just fine. "I respect your commitment to the cause. If it's not too much of an imposition, I have one more job for you."

"Whatever you ask, Your Highness."

A glaive's work was never done.


	2. The Princess Pilfers a Pretty Picture

The Princess Pilfers a Pretty Picture

"I trust in your discretion."

"I can assure you that your trust is well-placed."

Luna smiled in gratitude. She had insisted upon asking after the aid of a less exhausted glaive, but Nyx stubbornly refused to trade the task with one of his brothers. Luna found his dedication humbling, and there was something earnest and endearing about the contrast between his straight, imposing figure and the baking powder on his suit. It would be crueler to deny the man the redemption of his dignity than to press upon him more work.

"That man is smitten with you," Gentiana said once Nyx had jogged off, her voice matter-of-fact and kept expertly indifferent.

"I certainly hope you're wrong. That would make my betrothal a touch more complicated."

The wry tilt of her smile exposed the princess's insincerity in the words. Gentiana smirked in agreeable amusement.

"Let's try not to get too distracted from what today is all about though, shall we?" Luna said, diverting the conversation.

"Of course. What would you have us do in the meantime?"

"Whatever we can be of use doing."

One of the detriments to being of royal blood was that people tripped over themselves to make certain that you didn't have to be of use doing anything.

Luna went to the gates to offer her support to the garrison. She volunteered Gentiana's services with maintaining the guard, assuring that the woman's skills were far better suited to warding off intruders than circling the grounds on Luna's arm. Her offer was rejected in that politely condescending way typical of most men she'd met in her life.

"Your aid humbles us, Your Highness, but this is no place for a lady."

She loathed that phrase, but she pulled up her smile and thanked the guards for upholding their duties, nevertheless. Besides the guards' lack of wanting for reinforcement, whatever services Luna intended for Gentiana to provide, the woman had a different service she might have volunteered, judging by the vulpine stare she raked across Gladiolus's bared abs when they met him. To his credit, the man somehow kept his composure, in spite of a slight reddening around the cheeks, and Luna deftly extracted Gentiana from whatever snare she was constructing before it could snap and catch him.

They meandered to the kitchens next, and Luna was certain there would be something for her to do, given that it was utter chaos when they arrived. Bowls were on the floor, flour was in the air, and the staff was in a state of complete disorganization. Luna's spirits lifted at the messy sight, confident that she could be put to work here, but, alas, the kitchen's master assured her that everything was under control. Ignis may not have been a king, but he ruled this room as if it were his kingdom. He muttered something about being grateful that Luna had not brought Pryna with her, then ushered both women out of the kitchens.

She asked the cleaning staff if they needed help.

She asked the decorators if they needed help.

She went to the garage and asked the mechanics if they needed help, even though she didn't know a damn thing about cars.

She asked after every glaive she saw if she could help them in any way, and all she got was a look of horror, wondering where her security detail was.

"I don't believe I've ever met anyone so determined to do hard work," Gentiana said when Luna finally slumped down on a bench in defeat. "Usually, if the opportunity to be lazy should present itself…"

"You and I are hardly usual people, Gen."

"Hardly."

Gentiana paced, slowly, along the length of the bench Luna sat upon. She gazed at the flowering bushes in this little garden because there was nothing else to gaze at. Luna wrung her hands together in her lap. She wanted tonight to be perfect, and wanted even more to contribute to that goal. Plus, she needed something to occupy her thoughts off of Nyx's mission. Otherwise, she'd fret about it to her wit's end.

"We haven't tried him yet."

Luna looked up at who Gentiana indicated. On the other side of the garden, she recognized Noctis's friend, Prompto, sitting at one of the wrought-iron tables. There was a bottle of water and a half-eaten sandwich at his elbow, placed as far away from the contents spread across the table as possible. She couldn't see what the square sheets were, but they clutched Prompto with a fit of indecision. He had his head in his hands, teeth worrying his lower lip, and eyes shuttering from one leaf to the other in desperate deliberation.

Luna's curiosity drew her over to the table. So engrossed with his task was Prompto that he didn't even hear her approach. Luna peered over his shoulder and found that the table was covered with glossy photographs, depicting various combinations of Noctis and his three closest friends. Some photos were set apart from the others in a disorderly pile, others were set even further away on the chair beside Prompto. Luna glanced between the pictures and his consternated expression. When she couldn't determine the source of his distress, she prodded for his attention.

"Hello."

As if a gun had gone off next to him, Prompto jumped in his seat with a high-pitched yelp, and nearly toppled the drink set beside him. (His reflexes were quick enough to catch it before it ruined all his photos.) He put a hand against his chest and laughed at his own surprise.

"If that wasn't the unmanliest sound I've ever made…"

He looked up to apologize and his expression stalled once he recognized her. There was a beat of silence where Prompto blinked like a skipping record before bursting from his seat in an explosive scramble of frantic limbs, trying to compose his body into a bow.

"Princess, I mean, Your Majesty – w-wait, no, it's Highness – Your Highness! Hi! I mean, um, good day, or, no, um…"

His voice was getting progressively higher, like a boiling kettle, and he got himself into a bow that was so rigid, Luna was afraid he might snap himself in half. She saw Gentiana smirking from the corner of her eye. "Adorable," the dark-haired woman observed, making the man blush an even more furious shade of red than he already was. Luna sent her an admonishing glance that Gentiana ignored. Then, Luna smiled at Prompto.

"Please, it's just Luna to friends of Noct's. And, yes, it is a very good day, isn't it?"

"Y-Yeah…"

He was shaking like a chocobo's tail-feathers, a reaction that Luna was not unfamiliar with. She could never fathom why. She was a princess in title alone. She had no sovereignty over her own kingdom. If he wasn't afraid of Noctis, whose title actually came with something of substantial worth, then he didn't have to be afraid of her.

"What are you up to?" she asked, nodding to the pictures on the table.

"What? O-Oh, this mess? Just a silly little project… Did you want the table? I-I can move…"

"No, no, no!" Luna quickly said, waving a hand to stop him from clearing away the pictures. "I just…um…"

Her eyes traveled to the table, catching all of the white-toothed smiles across each photograph. Some were taken in the capital city, out in the local parks or at the arcade. Others were out in some rustic, hilly region, full of sunlight and uncut grass. Some were by the sea, some were at a school – a younger Noctis and an even younger Prompto – some were in and around the royal palace. And all of them, at some corner of the photo or another, had managed to capture at least one smile.

Ignis was trying to hide a grin in a blurry photo that suggested the photographer was in the middle of dropping the camera when the shutter went off. Gladiolus was beaming in one, his massive arm locked around Noctis's head, much to the prince's objections. Prompto smiled and waved at the camera with Noctis in the background, standing at the shore of a lake with a caught fish flopping around in his arms. Luna drew that one from the pile.

"These are all very beautiful," she said.

"You think so?" Prompto squeaked, hands knotting nervously together. "I-I'm no professional, but, um, thanks!"

"Are you certain?" Luna asked, smiling at him. "You have quite an eye."

Prompto floundered for a way to accept the compliment, and Luna looked at the photo in her hand. Her fiancée's face was in an exasperated panic, trying to get a grip on the halfway air-born fish. On the table, there were a few other pictures taken by the same lake, most of them depicting Noctis. Another in particular caught her attention. It was a shot of Noctis, holding a large fish at the end of a line. There was a smile of such pure, child-like elation on his face that he almost looked like a stranger to her.

"He likes to fish?" she asked, absently.

"Well, he likes to catch a fish. The actual process of fishing, not so much," Prompto chuckled.

"And this game?" Luna pointed at a picture from the arcade.

"Justice Monsters Five? We used to stop in that arcade every day after school to get a new high score."

"Do you mind if I…" She gestured at the other chair, piled with discarded pictures.

"Of course! No, I mean, of course I don't mind. Yes!" Prompto swept up the pile and dusted off the seat, even though there was nothing to dust.

Luna gratefully took the seat, and Prompto was just about to offer the other one to Gentiana, but the woman was off wandering the garden, circling the perimeter while the princess perused Prompto's pictures.

"What did you say these were for?" Luna asked him.

"Just a dumb gift idea. I should have finished last night, I know, but I couldn't make up my mind on which pics to use before falling asleep."

Luna gave him a quizzical look and he explained his "dumb gift idea."

"It's perfect," she told him, immediately after he'd finished describing it. "In fact, you should display it tonight! Mount it beneath the banner and put a big ribbon on it."

"I dunno about that," he laughed, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "Won't it clash with all the decorations?"

"Don't worry about that. Tonight's about thought, not what's been bought."

"Sounds like a fortune cookie."

Luna smiled in spite of herself. Cryptic poetry came with the Oracle's territory. "Forgive me if this is intrusive, but can I make a request for your project?"

"Of course! Anything! Name it!"

Luna slid the photo of Noctis's successful catch towards Prompto. "Include that one?"

He grinned fondly at the memory of his smiling friend. "Nice choice. You got it!"

Luna was just about to excuse herself and leave him to his task, but Prompto stopped her. "Um, would you like to help pick out the rest?"

She opened her mouth to say, "No, this is your gift, I couldn't possibly insert myself into all the hard work you've already put into it." But, before she could get the words out, Gentiana's circuit around the garden passed behind Prompto, and she gave Luna a look over his head as she walked on. It said, "Don't you dare sabotage yourself with that stuffy decorum of yours." Luna pressed her lips down on her initial response, and instead, smiled.

"Yes, I would like that very much."

While it was hardly the laborious task that she'd set out to do, it was no less important. Prompto grew less nervous with her the longer they sat together. Once he started talking about the stories behind each photo, Prompto completely forgot about Luna's title. His enthusiasm for his friends and their adventures together eclipsed everything else. She asked after every picture, to which he provided animated answers. He was a vault of information; an open catalogue for years of Noctis's life. Years that had passed her by in a blink.

When Luna was a girl, she would fantasize about her wedding. She would dream of one day falling in love with someone she knew inside and out, and who knew her just as intimately. When they informed her that she was to marry Noctis, she'd thought that was perfectly ideal. There was someone she knew since they were children and someone who, someday, she could grow to love like a wife should love her husband. But, after her initial relief upon hearing the news that she wouldn't be wed to a stranger, therein arrived the fingers of doubt. She couldn't explain where they came from or why they insisted on tickling the back of her mind. Picking through Prompto's photos provided a sudden, startling answer.

She hadn't known Noctis _since_ they were children; she knew him _when_ they were children. So much time had passed since then where they never even saw each other. They met each other on off occasions – political functions, diplomatic meetings, etc. It was always in a professional capacity. They were hardly ever given a moment to talk; to venture out into the city, grab a cup of coffee, and just babble about their lives. The most she knew about Noctis as an adult was from the news. Hardly a reliable source for a biography.

Prompto's pictures delighted and saddened her, as did his regaling tales behind each one. Here was a man who had been there through it all. He knew her fiancée like she had never been permitted to. He saw Noctis at his happiest, lived that happiness alongside him. He had painted portraits of so many more memories than she had of the prince. He'd make a better spouse for him than she would. And there was nothing she could do to fix this rift between her and Noctis. Once time passed, it was gone. As fleeting as a camera flash.

"I think we've got enough," Prompto eventually said, triumphantly shuffling through the selection. His triumph slowly fizzled down to concern, and he bit his lip in thought.

"Is something wrong?" Luna asked, worried that her choices may have ruined his vision for the project rather than aided it.

"We need one of you." Prompto looked up at her, racking his brain for any known photos he could use.

Luna smiled, sadly, sorry to disappoint him – and secretly disappointed herself. "I hardly think that's necessary," she said instead. "You have such wonderful pictures as it is."

"No, no! You helped, it's only fair that you have a picture in it, too."

Luna tried to assure him that he needn't bother himself, but Prompto wouldn't be dissuaded. An idea dawned on him, spreading like sunlight in his bright blue eyes. He checked the time on his phone and a mischievous smile curled across his lips.

"I've got an idea. Come with me!"

Prompto swept all the evidence of their project into a little backpack that had been under the table, took her by the arm, and darted into the palace.

"Where are we going?" Luna asked as they trotted through the halls.

"It's just past noon, which is when Noct usually flops down for a cat-nap, which means perfect photo opportunity."

Luna's brow wrinkled in confusion, not following his line of logic. He wore an impish grin on his face the whole way to their destination. Their route brought them to a big set of doors, somewhere near the center of the palace. Prompto's gait slowed to a tip-toe as they approached. Luna looked on with confounded curiosity as Prompto tapped on the door, quickly announcing them as "room service." There was no answer, and contrary to Luna's interpretation, Prompto assumed the lack of invitation as permission to enter the room. The door made no sound as it creaked open and Prompto peeked his head into the room. He gestured for Luna to follow and went inside.

She was hesitant to obey, every mannerly instinct in her body demanding that she turn back. When she looked through the crack in the door and spotted Noctis, sleeping on a couch inside, her interest overrode her instincts. Prompto was snickering maniacally, shuffling through his backpack. Umbra was sprawled at the foot of the couch, glancing tiredly between the two intruders, deeming them non-threatening, and going back to sleep. Noctis slept soundly, one arm thrown over his eyes, oblivious to his visitors.

"What are you doing?" Luna hissed from the door, afraid to take one step in.

"Don't worry, he sleeps like a rock," Prompto whispered back. "Come on, this'll be classic!"

Luna's gaze darted to each corner of the room as if there were sentries stationed at every one. She felt like a burglar, stealing into an occupied room that she hadn't been invited into. She walked, awkwardly over to Prompto, trying to keep her heels from clicking two loudly on the tiled floor.

" _What are you doing_?" she asked again, through gritted teeth, looking from Noctis to the door and any other swift exits from the room.

Prompto fished out a marker from his bag – "Ah ha!" – and sidled up to Noctis's face.

"What are you, twelve?" she objected as Prompto carefully drew upon the prince's face.

"Forever young!"

When he'd finished, Noctis's cheeks sported black cat whiskers and his nose a black dot. Simple, but effective. "Classic" as Prompto described it. He got to his feet and traded the marker for his phone, prepping the camera for a photo.

"Alright, get in there."

"What?"

"Go on! Make a funny face or something. Trust me, this'll be hilarious!"

Embarrassing, she thought would be a more accurate term…but, then again, there were more mortifying photos one could take. And besides, when Luna remembered that hardly any personal pictures of her and the prince existed, a desperate madness took over her, and she ended up submitting to the graffiti on Noctis's face.

"This is awful," she tried convincing herself, one more time, even though she could feel her cheeks pinching with the restraint of a smile.

"Worth it," Prompto insisted, thumb primed against the screen to take the shot. "Say 'happy birthday!'"

Luna waved at the camera, grinned, and said the words. The phone beeped as he took the picture, and Noctis grunted in his sleep. They both scurried out of the room in an instant, barely holding in their laughter until they were safely out in the hall. Luna was assaulted by a fit of giggles that she couldn't get a hold over. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been so giddy. It was such a childish prank, so cartoonish, so beneath a lady of her station, and yet she felt so accomplished.

"This is going right in the middle, I think," Prompto decided, beaming at the image.

"We're no better than the paparazzi," Luna chuckled.

"Speaking of…"

She looked up to find Gentiana standing in the hall, with Nyx just behind her. He wiggled a flash-drive in his hand, grinning slyly. Luna felt her heart thump proudly. She turned back to Prompto.

"Princess business?" he teased.

"Something like that."

"I'll leave you to it, then. Gotta put this all together." He patted the backpack and the contents therein. "Thanks for the help!"

He bounded off before she could do the thanking, a bundle of golden-blond energy. Once he had gone, Luna turned to Nyx and he passed her the flash-drive.

"You were fast," she said, impressed.

"Only the best for the queen-to-be. I'm familiar with that news outlet, anyway. Chummy with a couple of their photographers. I think you'll enjoy this afternoon's headline."

"And this?" She held up the flash-drive.

"Every copy in their system is on there and off their computers. Scrubbed 'em clean."

"Thank you, Nyx. I knew that I could count on you."

She thought she caught the slightest touch of pink in his cheeks before he straightened into his bodyguard stance and bowed.

Later, Luna perused the contents of the flash-drive herself, just to give herself peace of mind. She didn't know how the photographers had managed to capture the image when palace security was so industrially tight, but she had a friend of a friend of a friend who worked in the media who got wind of the story, and the how of the photo became less relevant. The shot was taken from a distance, aimed at the window of Noctis's bedroom. He was there, between the curtains, his face the picture of distress. She knew the expression well. It was the expression she saw in the mirror when she became acutely aware of just how much was expected of her from the people she would one day rule. A pressure she didn't know she had built up cracked over her head and flooded through her in a wave of panic.

Noctis was being consoled by someone – one of his friends – and the headlines ran ballistic over it. "Future King Guilty of Adultery?" "Heir to the Throne Keeps Male Paramour." "Prince of Lucis Cracking. Caught in Company of Consort." They were all different drafts of the same story. Every word in every version was unfair and cruel to the prince. Some drafts even had the gall to speak on her own behalf, consoling the poor, ignorant princess over her fiancée's infidelity.

They'd capture an image of Noctis at his most vulnerable, feeling the weight of a kingdom collapsing on top of him, and they were going to slander him for daring to seek the comfort of someone other than his future wife. A woman who hardly knew him. A woman who was hardly allowed to leave her prison to see him. The pages spoke about her as if she would be a jilted, jealous lover once she found out, and they couldn't be further from the truth.

She was happy that the boy she'd adored as a child had grown up surrounded by people he trusted enough to break around. Whether they were friends or truly were secret lovers, she didn't care. It didn't hurt her. In fact, it bolstered her faith in the prince's happiness. What hurt her was his pain, and the thought that someone could so effortlessly exploit it for the sake of a scandal. She may have been unable to comfort Noctis in his darkest moments like the man in the picture, but she could protect those moments from prying eyes. Everyone had a role they could fulfill. Hers was best-suited to the distance.

She got an email then. An update from the Malboro newsletter. On the front page, the publishers had unknowingly printed the wrong story. The cover image was of one Nyx Ulric, making a rude gesture at the camera, with two photographers tangled together at the foot of a tree behind him. The headline read, "Kingsglaive Compensate Paparazzi with Lucrative Photo Opportunity." The columns were walls of a troll-face emoji.

Luna made a note in her phone to treat Nyx to a drink. As she finished punching in the reminder, she received a text message from an unknown number.

"For all your royal needs ;)" it said, and attached was a copy of Prompto's photo, her face beside a whiskered Noctis, smiling and waving at the camera. She felt that smile returning. She saved Prompto's number and set the picture as her background.


	3. Baby, You're A Firework

Baby, You're A Firework

"Chocolate?"

"Black forest, I believe, sir."

Regis nodded his approval, intrigued by what other creative confections Ignis would be concocting for the night. He gave Nyx leave to go and the sugar-coated glaive slumped off.

"Does the kingsglaive find itself in need of reinforcement?" Clarus asked upon rejoining Regis.

"I've been assured that everything is under control. Besides that, I have the utmost confidence in the abilities of the kingsglaive to ensure tonight proceeds smoothly."

"Speaking of, while the glaive is doing their ensuring, there is another matter that only the king can resolve."

Regis sighed, all too aware of the bureaucratic horrors which awaited him in the Council chambers. Not even on his son's birthday could the King of Lucis have the day off. After twenty years, he was used to it, and so was Noctis. Ten years ago, every birthday Regis missed devastated Noctis. Now, it was as if the day hardly existed.

 _'It's only a day, like all the rest,'_ his son had said.

 _'Not this year,'_ Regis had vowed to himself. _'This year, I'll get it right.'_

The first step had been arranging for Luna to enter Insomnia. The amount of Nif ass he had to kiss to make that happen still made him brush his teeth twice as hard every night to try washing out the foul taste it left in his mouth. A small price to pay for being able to successfully invite the princess to the event. She had an uplifting effect on Noctis whenever she was around, something Regis expected Noctis was in dire need of today. Plus, her party-planning skills were un-matched.

The next step towards success was making sure he himself would be in attendance tonight. Which meant rapid fire Q&A with the council – a greater challenge than it sounded. Many of his advisors liked the sounds of their own voices more than they liked compromise. Getting to the root of an issue was like going into a dental procedure: it took a bit of screaming, some sharp objects, and a desperate plea for anesthesia before even beginning to solve the problem.

Regis was all set with a strategy today though. He'd keep his answers short, succinct, and, above all, decisive. He didn't anticipate there being too much controversial bullshit to contend with today, but the council had a talent for turning something as simple as a trade arrangement into a full-on border dispute.

The chamber was stock-full of the old codgers – _don't throw stones, Regis_ – wired to detonate the instant he pushed through the doors. Getting the first word in was integral to leading the conversation. Playground rules: "last one in is a rotten egg" type of deal. Lucky for Regis, those rules included a teacher position, of whose word overruled the rest when necessary.

"Let's keep this brief," Regis said over the swell of chatter, steady voice cutting through the noise like a ship through water. "Present your cases quickly and clearly. One at a time, seniority descending."

The king deposited himself at the head of the table, Clarus at his right hand. The first to speak was the small, anemic-looking man that always fussed over claiming a seat as close to the King as humanly possible without taking the place of one of his Hands. The man cared more about getting Regis's attention than representing the people behind his badge of office. He began to detail a possible betrayal of one of Lucis's allies; that known associates of the country's queen had been reportedly flying through Niflheim airspace unmolested by their supposed enemies. The man seized the opportunity to recite a critical discourse on the policies of their allied queen.

"The sky pirates are conducting an undercover operation in Niflheim on Lucis's behalf. Control rumors of their activity, lest our people turn against their sister city. And keep your thoughts about Queen B'nargin to yourself. Let me remind all of you to be _brief_."

The man shriveled back down into his seat like a disintegrating worm, but his admonishment didn't seem to apply to the rest of the Council. Each member that stood, Regis had to cut off from another ramble. Profits from trading with Neworld were down and it was obviously due to a weak government; it's _obviously_ because _I_ don't like the policy of so-and-so. Kingsglaive efficiency was low and it was _obviously_ because Commander Drautos was an immigrant more concerned with reaping the benefits of his position. Blah-blah was _obviously_ because of blah-blah and blah-diddly-blah-blah- _blah_.

Regis rubbed his head and considered scheduling a Council cleanse in the nearby future. While he was fantasizing about the idea and the rest of the chamber was debating over some foreign politician, a courier slipped through the room to whisper at Clarus's ear. Regis tried not to feel guilty for praying for an emergency. He was sorely disappointed when Clarus's nod to the courier held no gravity. He met the king's eye and Regis silently begged him to blow whatever trivial news the courier carried way out of proportion so he could have an excuse to exit this circus.

"The fireworks have arrived," Clarus said, unheard beneath the din; each word sounding like an apology.

Regis's fingers drummed against the arm of his chair, desperately considering a way of turning that into an emergency worthy of a king's attention. Clarus assured him with a hopeless look that there was no point in trying. Instead Regis tried to race the clock. The festivities didn't begin until later that night; there were still hours of daylight left for him to rein in his council.

The king huffed out a breath and straightened in his chair. He'd get it right today. Even if it killed him.

* * *

It almost killed him. He was in awe of the gods' twisted sense of irony. In his haste to escape the Council chamber, he'd ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time and it nearly cost him his life…according to Cor and Clarus and everyone else whose job it was to be hyper-attentive to ensuring his continued state of well-being. In actuality, the situation was far less grave than they made it out to be. He read as much in the eye-roll of the young glaive who saved him.

The Council had broken for a recess and Regis could not stagger his way out of there fast enough. The air in that chamber became so suffocating after hours of blowing hot air at each other. Even Regis's best effort could not quell his Council's lust for debating. So much for the "yes or no" strategy. So much for "getting it right."

The sun was already slipping westward when he stepped outside, and he hadn't heard half of the Council's complaints yet. Regis pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, resigned to begging for his son's forgiveness and knowing he didn't deserve it, yet again.

"Are you unwell, My Lord?"

Cor materialized at the King's side, vigilant as a scouting raptor. The Left Hand of the King was permitted everywhere his liege-lord went _except_ inside the Council chamber, a rule Cor had decried since he'd first been appointed to the position. "The first place anyone will try to kill you is in that den of wolves," he'd snarled. His disdain for the King's Council hadn't won him any favor when his allowances had come to a vote.

"Very," Regis said, in answer. "If anything's shortening my life-span, it's not the Wall."

Cor snickered in agreement. The only thing in all of Eos that could make Cor Leonis laugh was contempt for the Council. Regis tried – again – not to feel guilty for relishing in Cor's hateful laughter. His Council debated because they were passionate (entitled) about their service to Lucis. They were concerned (greedy) for the safety (votes) of their country's people. They all had a purpose (paycheck) for being there. He couldn't (shouldn't) despise them…

"How may I be of service, My Lord?" Cor recited, asking in so few words how he might aid and abet his escape from the Council.

"Unless you can fabricate some mortal travesty…" Regis sighed and shook his head. "Walk with me, Cor. Perhaps I can play the feeble old man and say I got lost in my own castle when they come looking for me."

"Would that your feebleness were true, My Lord. Would make my job a lot easier."

"And let you be complacent? I'd worry for your survival."

Cor was like a shark: if he stopped moving, he'd plummet to the bottom of the ocean and die. If not for his own entertainment, Regis kept Cor on his toes for the good of the man's continued existence.

Regis limped from gate to gate, Cor walking at a slow prowl a step behind him. Things were quieting down now that the day was receding, Cor told him. The guards reported mobs at their doorstep all morning. They all tired out eventually though. The tabloids were an endurance game that the Caelums had been winning for generations. If only the same could be said for politics, Regis thought to himself, quietly contemplating how to accomplish his mission tonight. Short of sending in Cor with a big-ass summon, he was running low on options.

They passed around the back of the property where the previously announced pyrotechnics display was being set up. Men and women in skull caps and safety gloves lurched between boxes of brightly-colored rockets, placing them in particular rows and patterns that made sense only to themselves. There was a glaive over-seeing the operation – Crowe Altius, if he remembered correctly – as well as keeping a look out for a wandering prince. Noctis didn't have a routine he kept to and it was a challenge the staff had grown used to. Today though, the stakes were a touch higher.

Crowe's gaze raced circuits around the perimeter. Her vigilance was a fearsome thing to behold until she spotted the King and his guard. Crowe's focus snapped to attention like a broken rubber-band.

"Your Majesty!" she announced, her voice a bit louder than she may have intended.

"At ease," Regis said before the firework handlers all started bowing as well.

"How may I serve you, sir?" Crowe said, eyes forward, but not quite meeting the King's. They were always a hair down, up, right, or left, never looking him directly in the eye.

"By continuing your good work," Regis answered. "I've yet to hear of any incidents that might endanger the night's proceedings." There was a slight wrinkling of Crowe's nose that suggested just because he hadn't heard anything, didn't mean something hadn't happened. If the state of Nyx Ulric was anything to go by, he was all too aware of that fact. "You're doing your job well," he assured her with a knowing nod.

"Thank you, sir." That prompted Crowe to return her sights towards surveillance, searching every lane and corner that turned into the back lot.

One of the technicians approached them then, her cap in her hands and her head bowed. "Good day, Your Majesty. Is the arrangement to your liking?"

"I'm afraid I wouldn't know," Regis replied, laughing lightly. "The most I know about fireworks is that they sparkle once they're off the ground."

"That they do, Your Majesty," the woman laughed, timidly.

"Would you care to show me how they work before that?"

The technician's eyes sparkled with pride for being asked about her work by the King of Lucis. She nodded, vigorously, and directed him towards the set-up. For Regis's part, it was a lot of nodding and pretending to understand pyrotechnic jargon, but the point wasn't to understand it; the point was to listen. For all the work going into this display, the least he could do in return was appreciate it at its less recognized stage.

Cor shadowed his every step, but it was Crowe that tackled the King to the ground when one of the fireworks was set off by mistake. No one saw how it happened, only that for one second the lot was full of the quiet murmurings of the technicians, and the next, there was a hiss and a pop and one of the small rockets was suddenly zooming over the concrete. Shouts of panic followed its glittering tail and people scrambled out of the way. The shouts rose in horror once they realized who the rocket was aiming for.

Regis had a second to blink before he was knocked off his feet. He thought, _This black-top will murder my back_ , before considering how much a firework to the gut was going to hurt. He was less surprised that he wasn't dead when his back hit the ground than he was by the fact that he'd somehow landed on the decorative strip of grass lining one side of the lot. That hurt a lot less.

The rogue firework spiraled overhead and burst into a clumsy fizzle in the daylight. _Oh, good. That'll do nicely for the party_. The thought that those pretty sparks might have killed him didn't cross Regis's mind until Cor started thundering at the fireworks technicians. But, that was after Crowe's sloppy brunette head popped into Regis's field of vision.

She said, "Are you hurt?"

He thought, _I hope I'm paying these people enough_. How she'd been faster than a firework – as well as faster than Cor – _and_ been able to tackle him onto a less treacherous plot of ground in a single movement mystified and amazed the King. That awe was quickly pushed aside when the next thing to creep into Regis's sight were the tiny horns of flames prickling up from her shoulder.

"Fire."

Crowe's brow wrinkled, then her nose upon being graced with the scent of smoke. All her knightly decorum was traded for a trucker's swears as she rolled off the King and threw her burning cape to the ground, viciously stomping it into cinders.

There was a lot of yelling – from Cor – and a lot of consoling – from Regis – after that. Cor would have liked to put every member of the fireworks troupe into prison. Regis assured them all that accidents weren't considered treason. Honestly, Regis thought Cor was just mad at himself for not jumping in front of the oncoming rocket in time.

"When was the last time I gave you a raise?" he asked Crowe while Cor delivered his final round of scolding.

"When you gave me the job, sir. Being able to afford a hot meal is all the compensation I need."

Been a while since he heard something that noble. Nevertheless, he promised himself to remember that the kingsglaive could be spared a little extra gil come their next pay day. Cor marched back to his side, leaving the troupe looking like a litter of scared puppies. Regis bid them all thanks for their hard work and gave them a smile that basically said to ignore whatever Cor had told them. He nodded to Crowe and started back to the Council chamber.

"I almost wish that had killed me," he groaned once they were on their way.

And as if the gods had heard him, they sent him a message that sternly said, "No, you don't."

Noctis appeared around the bend, half-awake and shell-shocked. Relief spread across his face when he saw his father. "I thought I heard a gunshot," he said, breathless. "Are you alright? What was that sound?"

Cor and Regis were quiet, staring at him, and the prince's relief quickly curdled into concern. Regis spoke before Cor could say anything. "Just a little target practice."

"Target practice?"

"I've allowed the glaive the back lot while their shooting range undergoes some construction. I'm surprised you heard them. Aren't you usually asleep at this time of day?"

"I was," Noctis grumbled, pressing the heel of his palm to his eye to rub some of the sleep away.

"Having a nice day?"

The prince grunted noncommittally and turned back the way he came. The pair stood there for a moment, waiting until they couldn't hear his footsteps anymore.

"How long are you going to let him walk around like that?" Cor asked.

"He'll stumble in front of a mirror eventually."

Maybe the black whiskers on his reflection would even make his son laugh. It was the thought of Noctis's smile that gave Regis renewed purpose in facing the Council.

"Do me a favor, Cor. When explaining why we're late, play up the idea that I was nearly murdered by that firework. Nothing gets old men talking quicker than the threat of mortality."

When Cor smiled like that, it was like gazing into the face of the Devil. "You make this job all the more worthwhile, Your Majesty."


	4. Rom-Com Chic

Rom-Com Chic

Prompto pressed his tongue against his lip, fitting the stiff poster-board into the frame with a surgeon's deliberation. He clipped the back into place and carefully flipped the glass side towards him to observe his and Luna's handiwork.

"Perfect," he said, echoing the princess's admiration from before.

He slipped a bow around one corner, added a tag – "With Love, Luna & Prompto" – and smiled. All that was left to do was displaying it in the dining hall, and that's when Prompto's smile cracked. He stared at the door and plotted the distance from this room to that hall. It was easy enough keeping his gift concealed when it was various, palm-sized pictures he could rubber-band together in his backpack; but, now that they were compiled together in a collage that was almost as wide as he was tall, it made stealth a little bit more difficult.

While he was fretting over a way to deliver the gift across the property without running the risk of bumping into Noctis, the doors to the sitting room opened. Another unmanly yelp of panic pitched up his voice like when Luna snuck up on him, and he scrambled to find something that could cover the framed picture. He was just about to sprint to the door and ram it shut when Iris stepped in and not Noctis. Prompto felt all of his breath whistle out of him like a deflating balloon.

"Sorry!" Iris chirped. "Didn't think anyone would be in here."

"Exactly why I'm hiding out here."

Iris came over to the coffee table where his gift lay. Her face lit up with delight and she laughed. "Aw, this is adorable! You did this all by yourself?"

"Had a little bit of help," he conceded as she read the tag.

She ran a finger along the frame, careful not to touch the glass and mar it with fingerprints. "I don't even remember this," she chuckled, finding a picture of herself with her arms draped around Noctis's shoulders, startling the prince by jumping on him from behind.

"How typical of a photo-bomber," Prompto accused.

She gave him a cheeky grin. "Not gonna wrap it?" she asked.

"Princess Lunafreya wants to display it instead. Just gotta get it to the main event, unseen." He paused and considered Iris for a moment. "Hey, you practically grew up here, right? Know any secret short-cuts I could use?"

Iris crossed her arms and put her knuckles to her chin, eying the dimensions of the frame and pondering a course they could take. She nodded to herself, reading an invisible map he may never know himself.

"Mm-hm, I know just the way. Right, let's cover this…"

Against Prompto's objections, Iris stole the nearest curtain straight off the window and wrapped it around the frame like she was swaddling an infant.

"We'll bring it back," she consoled him as he gestured at the naked window. "House-keeping won't even know we were here."

She was already leading the way out the door before he could object further so, Prompto tucked the covered picture under his arm and hurried after her. They ducked and weaved throughout the halls like burglars, stealing around corners and glancing backwards, although Iris's route kept them miraculously clear from any other human contact.

There was a glaive here and there in the shadowed corridors, fulfilling just as sneaky operations as the pair of them. When they stumbled across each other, Iris would say "birthday business" like it was a secret password and the glaive would echo it back with a severe nod. Prompto hoped everyone wasn't going to be this serious once the party actually started.

Iris eventually led Prompto into one of the palace's many guest rooms, which was occupied by a chaotic sea of dresses and suits strewn across every piece of furniture in the room. The large vanity in one corner was draped with jewelry, its dresser covered in bottles of make-up.

"Looks like a department store threw up in here," Prompto joked.

"Princess Lunafreya brought a castle-sized closet with her for anyone in need of an outfit. Anyone who can't afford something nice or won't have time to go home and change can run in here. Pit stop for high fashion."

"Convenient and generous," Prompto said in praise.

"That door over there adjoins to the next room and take you through to the dining hall."

"Well, that was easy! Thanks a bunch!"

Prompto tip-toed around the priceless garments like a baby deer learning to walk, taking big unsteady steps across the room. He paused upon successfully reaching the door without treading on any fine silks.

"Where are you headed after this?" he asked.

Iris stiffened for a moment, crossing her arms in a defensive position that didn't match the tone of her answer. "I dunno. I was dog-sitting, but that's kinda finished." Her eyes flickered around the room as if in search of something to do, but Prompto caught the dreamy glaze over them that gave her away.

"Why don't you borrow one?"

Iris looked at him as if he'd spoken a language that didn't exist before her translator kicked in. She started laughing and even went so far as to back a few steps away from the gown nearest her.

"Please," she snorted. "I'll manage with something out of my own closet."

She tried to put as much derision into the words as she could, but her eyes kept betraying her. She would glance in disgust at a particular dress, but the glance would linger far longer on the thing that supposedly repulsed her so badly.

"They are for everyone, aren't they? Go for one!" Prompto encouraged her, setting his package to the side.

"I wouldn't know the first thing…"

"About dressing like a princess? I'm sure it's just like dressing for anything else, except with fancier clothes."

Prompto retraced his steps to the guest room's bed and started shuffling through the dresses laid upon it. He scooped up a few and held them up to her, glancing between her face and the dress a few times before switching to another.

"What are you doing?" Iris asked, already exasperated.

"First, you're gonna want a color that compliments your eyes."

"How would you even know the first thing about women's fashion?"

Prompto mumbled something into the neckline of a dress he'd tucked beneath his chin for safe-keeping while he fished through a few others. Iris cocked her head to the side, waiting expectantly for him to repeat himself.

"Romantic comedies!" he blurted, failing to ignore her discomfiting stare. "I watch way too many of them when there's nothing else on TV and more than half of them always have the same, cheesy "knock-out" scene: the plain, love-struck main girl has a Cinderella moment that's usually perpetuated by her friend who's conveniently an expert on looking great and helps her look awesome enough to stun the guy she's been in hate/love with the whole movie so that they can finally get to confessing their feelings that they've been avoiding with dumb jokes and awkward moments…"

Iris grabbed his arm to stop him. There was a sudden intensity in her gaze as she looked at him. "You can make me look stunning enough to impress a guy?"

Prompto's brain stalled for a beat. When it jump-started again, he clutched the dresses in his arms to his chest, using them as a shield between her and him. "Um, I don't think your brother would want me…"

"Please!" she begged, hanging off of his arm and bowing her head. "I don't know the first thing about this stuff. I used to dress up all the time when I was, like, six, but this is like a whole other level! Please, please, help me out? I helped you!"

 _Oh, no, don't pull the debt card._ Prompto gnawed on his lower lip, considering the consequences for his overall well-being should he do this and it lead to her dating some dude beneath Gladiolus's standards. He could see his decapitated head on a spike already, yawning over the front gates of the palace. The image made his blood run cold, enough that it almost convinced him against helping Iris. When he looked down to say "no," the rejection died on his tongue.

He was her once – not a love-struck, teenage girl, obviously. He'd been totally lost on how to take pride in his appearance, enough to gain the confidence to socialize and make friends and not be so alone anymore. Changing had opened the door to creating the most important connections of his entire life. What if denying Iris closed a similar such door? It was worth invoking Gladiolus's wrath, he decided, nodding.

"Alright, I'll do my best."

Iris's eyes grew big and watery with gratitude. She wrapped him up in the Amicitia clan's evidently trademark back-breaking bear hug and rolled out an infinite reel of "thank you"s.

It didn't take nearly as long as Iris had feared to find a suitable dress. Once she dredged up her inner six-year-old, it was easy. They ended up going with a dark amber bouffant dress with a lacy black ribbon around the waist. It was flirty, but not too sexy; the skirt glittered softly when it caught the light – enough to draw the eye – and it made her coppery-brown eyes lighten like candle flames. When Prompto re-entered the room after she changed into it, Iris was standing in front of the floor-length mirror, turning her hips so the skirts swayed slightly.

"Like it?" Prompto chirped from the doorway.

"I gotta admit, I had my doubts," Iris confessed, smiling at her reflection and shaking her head in disbelief.

"Wanna finish it off with some bling?"

That was hardly an appropriate term for the priceless jewels arrayed across the vanity, but it definitely made approaching them a little less intimidating. Iris bounced into the chair in front of the mirror, eyes glittering as brightly as the jewelry before her. Prompto carefully picked through the pieces.

"Let's see, we've got your ruby earrings, your onyx choker, classic pearl necklace…"

"What do you think Noct likes – I mean, um…"

Prompto bit his lip and avoided looking at her as she tripped over her words, growing more flustered the less she was able to cover the slip up. It came as no surprise to Prompto that the guy Iris wanted to impress was Noctis. Contrary to how well she thought she kept it hidden, her crush on the prince was no secret to anybody… mostly because it was shared by everybody. "Loved By Lucis" was the only honest headline in the news. Noctis was beloved across the country, not just by the people closest to him. His betrothal had broken a lot of hearts.

Iris folded her arms against the dresser and sighed, hopelessly. What was the point in continuing to try if it wasn't going to accomplish anything? She was never going to be able to act on her crush, to see if there was any merit to it. Prompto supposed therein lied the problem; "what if?" It was a terrible, intrusive question that was difficult to quiet without giving it an answer.

"He likes personality, I think."

The two of them whipped around to find Luna in the doorway, quiet as a ghost and smiling demurely. Iris's face burned red and her mouth opened and closed, unable to form words through the floundering shape. Luna entered the room and spoke to ease the silence. "Nothing speaks better to a woman's personality than the way she wears her hair. I'm thinking bouncy curls, maybe with these earrings."

The princess reached over Iris's shoulder for a pair of teardrop pearl earrings. Iris flinched as if she was afraid the woman might slap her for daring to try attracting the affections of her fiancée. Instead, Luna held up the proffered jewelry to Iris's ears, nodding at the vision in her head.

"A touch of make-up, a little hairspray, and you'll be the bell of the ball. Nice choice, by the way."

She indicated the dress Iris was wearing, and a self-conscious rouge colored the girl's cheeks. "Can't take the credit for that," she admitted.

Luna glanced at Prompto, fumbling with his hands in the corner. "You're full of hidden talents, aren't you?"

Prompto gave himself a self-deprecating laugh. "Seems that way. I wouldn't trust me with hair-styling though. The most I know about that is from the back of a hair-gel bottle."

Luna smiled in that mild, honest way of hers that could comfort an entire kingdom. "Allow me to share my talent for hair in your stead, then. If the young lady doesn't mind, that is?"

Iris seemed to have forgotten that she was an active occupant of the room, and had watched the princess's exchange with Prompto as if from some great distance until she was addressed. She came back to herself, pink-faced and shivering, but didn't reject the princess's offer.

"I'm much obliged to you, my lady."

"On the contrary, you're doing me a favor," Luna chuckled, plugging in a curling iron that she'd somehow uncovered from the trenches of the messy room. "I could use a distraction from party-planning."

Which reminded Prompto that he had yet to complete his delivery. He looked at his watch and swore under his breath before apologizing for using vulgar language in front of the princess – although she didn't even blink at the word.

"I've gotta get this to the dining hall," he said to excuse himself, gathering up his parcel.

"Make sure to swing back here when you're done," Luna said as he headed for the door. "We've still got to dress you up. And maybe you can help pick out my outfit, too."

There was something about a compliment from Princess Lunafreya that made him feel like he was walking on cloud-puffs the rest of the evening.


	5. Explicit Edibles

**A/N:** Didn't get to post this one yesterday because it was Thanksgiving! Sorry for the delay, but you'll get two chapters for the price of one day today, instead! :)

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Explicit Edibles

The most Pelna knew about cooking was that it kept raw meat from killing him. If the Micky's down the street kept burning his burgers, he knew he was in the clear – also that if you used enough bacon, you could make week-old take-out taste like a five-star meal. So, when he passed through the palace kitchens a million times to deliver a million ingredients with names he could barely pronounce, the laboratory set-up of the place confounded and overwhelmed him.

There were cups and bowls placed like beakers and test-tubes across the counter-tops, filled with perfectly leveled substances of varying consistency. There were syrups and sugars on one half of the room, salts and sauces on the other. Some dishes were being arranged with leafy greens, some pastries were being delicately frosted; all done by sous-chefs with grave, concentrated expressions.

At the center of the almost militant operation was its general, whipping out clipped, careful instructions to his soldiers over the even more careful application of injecting lemon curd into a tray of vanilla cakes. The way Ignis knew the finite mechanics of the kitchen without ever tearing his gaze from his work was kinda spooky. Impressive, but spooky.

There were a few hours left until the event got underway, and the outgoing counter was starting to fill with covered dishes. Pelna hoped he wouldn't be asked to heft one of them to the dining hall. Compared to the massive buffets served at the galas that often took place on the property, this spread was much more modest, but could still feed a small village. Gods, he hoped he could get off duty just long enough to fill a doggy bag before the night was out.

"That's the last of 'em," Pelna announced to no one, triumphantly placing the last crate of shellfish in its designated corner. His fingers felt raw from the mounds of ice chips bursting through the milk crate, and he smelled like an old seafarer's fishing boat. It was a stench that was going to stay with him for the rest of the week, he was sure of it. Must have been his penance for how wasted he got last night. His hangover definitely seemed to think so. For every fish crate that he'd delivered that afternoon, another vomit flavored bubble lurched in his stomach. He would be amazed at how Ignis would undoubtedly prepare these briny, gaping creatures into something sinfully mouth-watering.

"Anything else I can do for ya, Chief?" he asked, approaching Ignis and trying to brush the fish-smell out of his uniform.

"Yes, actually." Without stopping what he was doing, Ignis slid a nearby dish over to Pelna. "Try that."

Pelna stared - as bug-eyed as one of the fish he smelled like - at the plate presented to him. It looked like a dish of pepper poppers, except way nicer than the grease-puddled poppers he was used to ordering at the bar. The peppers looked crisp and juicy, glistening with a touch of olive oil; a gooey mixture of yellow and white cheeses oozed seductively from the tops, lightly crusted with a sprinkle of breadcrumbs.

Pelna's stomach made a lusty noise for the first time that day. He'd heard the expression "you eat with your eyes," but always thought it was pretentious bullshit for people that could afford to be discerning eaters. Which conjured up the question of why _he_ was being asked to taste-test one of tonight's dishes. His palette consisted of instant coffee, cheap take-out, and TV dinners, not chèvre and filet mignon and whatever else you needed a linguistics degree to say.

Regardless of Pelna's qualifications, the kitchen general had given him an order and hesitating to complete it was an intolerable offense. As far as commands went, he didn't care to challenge this one. He popped one of the bite-sized morsels into his mouth and almost had to sit down. The still life look of the things had nothing on how they actually tasted. The pepper was hot and crunchy, and the second he bit into it, smooth melted cheese burst over his tongue. He tasted the tangy heat of the pepper, some herby, aromatic sorcery, and cheese, _oh my gods_ , cheese.

The noise he made was far from kitchen appropriate and his knees turned to jelly. He had to lean his palms against the counter to keep from falling off his feet. He tried to form some sort of intelligible sound for the assessment that Ignis was expecting, but he was rendered speechless.

"Too spicy?" Ignis prompted him instead.

"Not for my tastes," Pelna somehow managed to say over the orgasmic shiver that suddenly overtook him.

"Perfect."

Pelna wasn't sure if Ignis was referring to his own finishing touches on the cakes he was working on or if he was pleased by the glaive's reaction to the peppers. In either case, the man deserved a royal accommodation for his mastery of the culinary arts.

"Try the rest."

Ignis gestured further down the kitchen island, where a cluster of small samples waited to be tasted. Pelna's knees buckled for a beat before he regained rigidity in his spine. He didn't even question why he'd been appointed this most holy of tasks, he just did as he was told and loved every second of it.

The samples consisted of gourmet sliders, bourbon-glazed baby-back ribs, crab-stuffed lobster tails, curry-flavored croquettes, pork dumplings, and he was dying, he was dead, he was in Heaven, there was no way he was lucky enough to eat like this on Eos. Ignis reminded him that he was still in the land of the living with a query after each dish. Was the pork to veggie ratio even in the dumpling filling? Were the ribs too liberally glazed? Were the sliders an appropriate size?

Pelna didn't think he was being the most insightful of food critics. The best answers he could give consisted of pleased moans and thumbs up, far from a professional review. But, it wasn't professionalism Ignis was looking for.

"Everything was to your liking?" the head chef asked as he passed behind Pelna, hefting a pot of some kind of fish stew to another counter.

"And beyond," Pelna confirmed, sneaking in another deviled egg – smoked salmon in a deviled egg, how in the actual hell did that work?

"Would it be the same to your brothers?"

Pelna paused, mid-chew, confused by the question. He glanced at Ignis for clarification, but he was occupied with seasoning his stew. Pelna turned to the brutalized sampler plate for a possible answer instead. When he recalled what he'd just gorged himself on with the thought of his brothers in mind, he was suddenly able to make a connection. Each was a sample from one of the glaives' favorite dishes.

He'd once seen Crowe rip apart three plates of ribs like a behemoth savaging its prey. When it came time for barbecue season, sliders were a staple at Libertus's table. Luche always dreamed of the finer things in life, and put a little money aside each year to afford a lobster. And Pelna's go-to order for appetizers was always pepper poppers.

"This is all for the party, right?" he finally asked.

"Certainly; for the glaive's party."

Pelna's puzzled silence was a clear enough question to prompt Ignis to elaborate. "After the prince's surprise party, we thought it was only courteous that the staff be rewarded for a job well done. Your final task for the day is spreading the word: the glaive dinner is at eight thirty; the guard at ten. The kitchen and cleaning staff's runs alongside the prince's party. Make sure your brothers are made aware of it."

Pelna was stunned. The royal family were benevolent masters, sure, but the staff was rewarded in pay-checks, not parties. The king paid for their service, not for their indulgence. The glaive had never been thrown a "thank you" party, at least not while he was in service.

"Whose idea was that?" he asked before he could catch himself. His first response should have been gratitude, not suspicion.

Ignis didn't seem to notice, either way. He snapped his fingers at a nearby sous-chef and pointed to a particular oven. The sous-chef moved without a word, busying himself with whatever telepathic task Ignis had just transmitted.

"It was a collective agreement," he said to Pelna. "We hope you'll enjoy it. Now, you best be off to tell your fellows about it."

A warm feeling, as gooey as the cheese in those peppers, oozed throughout Pelna's chest. It was easy enough to say the work itself was its own reward, but being appreciated sure dwarfed that sanctimonious crap.

"Oh, wait! I almost forgot." Finally, Ignis stopped what he was doing to catch Pelna one last time before he was out the door. He grabbed a paper bag from the counter and passed it to him. "Give that to Sir Ulric if you see him. It's thanks for the dog."

Pelna didn't even try to ask – Ignis was already back at his stew before he had finished talking.

When Pelna passed around the verbal invitation to each glaive he visited, they were just as surprised as he'd been (some even advised him to see a medic and get his head checked). It took a lot more convincing for some than it did for others. The easiest way he proved that there was truth to the invitation was by describing the delectable morsels that had graced his taste buds.

Pelna recited long, almost poetic verses about saucy pork ribs, pillow-soft dumplings, and slices of beef that melted on your tongue. Skeptical glaives were gradually drawn deeper into the spell-binding web that Pelna weaved. Lips quivered, eyes watered, and knees struggled querulously to stay straight.

"I swear to Etro, if this is another one of your pranks…" Crowe said, trying to focus on a burnt article of clothing to avoid salivating.

"This would be too cruel of a prank, even for me."

Her expression was so full of hope that it was true, it almost moved Pelna to tears. Nyx was even more emotive when Pelna eventually found him, shuffling aimlessly along a patrol route like a member of the undead. When Pelna dropped the surprise on him and delivered Ignis's package, Nyx stared, glassy-eyed, into the bag, before slowly dragging Pelna into a hug and whispering a very tired, very reverent "thank you."

Pelna didn't know what the hell Ignis had cooked up to fill that bag, but that man must have cast some kind of magic into his cooking to move even Nyx Ulric to tears.

Later, when the glaive dinner would be served, Pelna would find himself similarly prostrate with the rest of his brothers when they were presented with the buffet. It would be a feast worthy of the Halls of Valhalla, and the glaive would be in agreement that they had all died and joined the gods at their celestial table. How else could such humble mortals deserve such decadence?


	6. The Best Intentions Lead to Intervention

The Best Intentions Lead to Interventions

Gladiolus yawned and shook himself awake like a giant dog. Watching the gates could be like watching reality television: shallow, plastic divas yapping the same tiresome, scripted lines to instigate the same boring, rehearsed cat-fight. If the paparazzi were anything to go by, Gladiolus wondered if the people behind the cameras on those shows were just writing biographies and giving the rail-thin house-wife the role of themselves to play.

Greasy men and scrappy women alike had been shouting the same questions since the dawn of celebrity gossip through the bars at him all day. Sometimes fights even broke out among them when one photographer stepped on the toes of one reporter – or some such kindergarten nonsense. The guards would watch the fight for about five minutes before threatening to cleave the whole lot of them in half for their misconduct. The only pleasure Gladiolus and his men got out of this job was watching the exploitative bastards tear each other limb from limb – since they were legally bound from doing so themselves.

If the skirmishes delighted his fellow guardsmen that was all well and good for them, but the altercations had grown wearisome to Gladiolus. They were such frail little fights, constructed of flimsy shoves and weak punches that ended up hurting the one throwing them more than the one they were aimed at. Pitiful, absolutely pitiful. He was tempted to step beyond the gate and really give them something to photograph more than once that day.

It helped to have visitors to keep himself from acting on his impulses and costing the crown a fortune on the lawsuit which would follow. The undercut glaive, Nyx Ulric, started his day off alright. The thought of the Malboro News duo meeting a mortifying end kept him smiling for most of the morning. A brief visit from the Princess of Tenebrae – out of the photographers' sight – was a flattering mid-morning treat. While he had to reject the princess's offer – they were actually _over_ -staffed today – he appreciated it, nevertheless. He doubly appreciated the look her lady-in-waiting gave him and wondered if he'd cause an international incident by asking her to dinner.

The king strolled by once in the distance around midday and that threw the paparazzi into a frenzy. Regis went in and out of view in hardly a flicker of a moment, yet it took an eternity to calm the mob afterwards.

Iris skipped by sometime in the afternoon to make rude expressions for the paparazzi to snap in their ceaselessly flickering cameras. While entertaining, that wasn't Iris's original purpose for stopping in. She informed Gladiolus that he should check the morning headlines as soon as he was able to. He whipped out his phone immediately and howled with laughter. Nyx Ulric sure knew how to take an order and roll with it. He needed to print that page and get it auto-graphed.

Now, the day was dwindling down and he could not wait to kick up his boots in the dining hall and knock back whatever alcoholic beverage Ignis planned on serving with dinner. Gladiolus hadn't seen Noctis at all yet that day so, he had no idea if the kid was still none the wiser about the party. Anybody he'd talked to didn't indicate otherwise so, he took that as a good sign. If they could get the prince to smile tonight, it would make the day's exhaustion worth it.

The day's trials weren't over quite yet. While the paparazzi were starting to thin upon realizing that a million celebrities' limousines weren't pulling into the gates to be accosted, Prompto popped up at Gladiolus's side.

"You clean up well," Gladiolus commented on his attire. Nothing too high-brow – it was a friends and family event, after all – but a touch cleaner than casual: nice jeans, blazer, polo shirt. "Pick that out yourself?"

Prompto glared at him for suggesting that he was incapable of dressing himself for the occasion, but Gladiolus's knowing smirk persisted and forced Prompto to confess.

"So I got a little input, what of it?" Prompto crossed his arms in his defense, pouting, and Gladiolus's smirked turned fonder.

"Hope you'll recommend me your tailor for the next big event."

Prompto glanced shiftily away and made an uncertain noise that might have been a tentative agreement or might not have been. He changed the subject before Gladiolus could ask about this secret fashion consultant, suddenly remembering his purpose for visiting.

"Hey, do you get off soon? I need your help with something."

"Depending on the something, I can be off right now."

"The something is about six foot, near-sighted, and borderline obsessive compulsive about making dinner, but not getting himself ready for dinner."

Gladiolus considered the shrinking crowd at the gate, then whistled at the other guards present and made some gesture that only guardsmen understood that must have meant he was taking off because after the first nod he got he was striding away.

"Kitchen?" he asked as Prompto stumbled to keep up with the man's gait.

"Where else?" he sighed.

When they got there, the kitchen was filled with aromatic ghosts and the vanishing footfalls of servers bringing the courses to the hall. The meals were complete, the staff was relieved of duty, and yet, Ignis remained, less than an hour before the consumption of his hard work was set to commence. He was fastidiously scrubbing already spotless counter-tops, expression set in grim determination, as if he were cleaning a war-wound rather than linoleum.

"Unless those glasses of yours can see dirt on a molecular level, I think it's clean, Iggy."

Ignis looked up more confused than he was surprised to see the two of them, and didn't pause once in his task – it was as if his arms operated independently from his brain.

"Shouldn't you be getting ready?" he asked Gladiolus after giving Prompto a quick glance to approve his outfit.

"Shouldn't you?" Gladiolus countered.

"I'll be ready in a moment."

Ignis continued cleaning and Gladiolus felt Prompto's puzzled stare on his face. Huffing in annoyance, he asked, "What's your interpretation of 'ready?'"

"This kitchen needs to be prepared for returning dishes after the meal…"

"It's prepared, Iggy."

"I need to clear out the sink to make room for…"

"Sink's empty, Iggy."

"Fine, but I need to arrange some jars in case I need a last minute garnish…"

He went on to create a hundred other irrelevant tasks for himself, flitting about the kitchen like a trapped chicken in search of something to peck at.

"Is he short-circuiting or something?" Prompto whispered from the corner of his mouth as they watched the man move.

"Over-heating, actually. He might have worked too hard and now he can't force himself to cool down."

"How do we fix him?"

"Manual restart."

Gladiolus cracked his knuckles, rolled his neck, and marched up behind Ignis. In one (scarily) practiced motion, the sword-master hooked his arms beneath Ignis's, locked his fingers behind his head, and dragged the man from the kitchen.

"The hell are you doing?" Ignis blustered in a very un-Ignis-like manner. "Unhand me!" (That was more like it.)

"We're cuttin' ya off, Iggy. It's for your own good."

"I don't need an intervention, I need disinfectant."

"Oh, good, you're admitting to the problem."

Ignis growled and tried squirming his way out of the head-lock, but Gladiolus out-weighed and out-experienced him in the man-handling department. He was gracelessly dragged down the halls, cursing at Gladiolus and, when that didn't work, entreating with Prompto as he strolled along behind them.

"Sorry, I asked for his help," Prompto replied.

"Only following orders, Iggy," Gladiolus added.

"Traitors," Ignis muttered.

After a long trip of hissing, spitting, and indifferent staring from stray glaives – they looked on as if this was a common sight – they finally made it to the dressing room. Ignis was unceremoniously shoved inside.

"Ten minutes," Gladiolus ordered.

Ignis glared at him and tugged sharply at the end of his shirt to even out the wrinkles Gladiolus left on it. With that silent curse out of the way, Gladiolus shut the door, assumed the standard bodyguard position in front of it, and waited.

"Well, that was easy," Prompto said into the silence which followed.

"Only if you think it's over."

Prompto groaned and his shoulders slumped forward.

"What are you whining about?" Gladiolus grumbled. "You're not the one that has to drag his scrawny ass through the castle."

"Right down to the wire and we're still driving over bumps; it'll be a miracle if this party ends up being perfect."

"The king doesn't seem too worried about it, and if he's not worried, you shouldn't be. Besides, what couldn't make it perfect? It's friends, family, and no press; that fact alone will be good enough for Noct."

"You really think he'll be happy with everything?"

"Positive. Speaking of, did you end up finishing your present?"

Prompto went on to detail the construction and completion of his project to occupy the next ten minutes. Gladiolus glanced periodically at the time and turned his ear to the door once or twice to make sure Ignis hadn't pulled the escaping damsel trick of knotting dresses into a rope to toss from the tower window.

Before the allotted time was up, a few short knocks came from the other side of the door. When Gladiolus let him out, Ignis was cleaned up and grudgingly ready to go. Gladiolus had known him long enough not to trust any sudden compliance.

"Don't take your eyes off him," he ordered Prompto. "I'll only be a minute."

"Aye, aye, Captain!" Prompto replied, making Ignis roll his eyes.

Gladiolus decided to cut that minute in half – for all Prompto's cleverness, Ignis was twice as much. He grabbed a shirt, changed his shoes, and in the brief moment between closing and opening the dressing room door, somehow, Ignis had escaped. He was halfway down the hall and Prompto was spinning in circles like a cartoon character just blown past by the roadrunner.

"The hell, man?" Gladiolus thundered, rushing after Ignis before Prompto could even form a sentence.

He eventually righted himself enough to follow in pursuit, trying to explain how Ignis was a magician and used some sort of sleight of hand to get him off balance. Gladiolus didn't stop to even attempt to understand what he was saying.

"Iggy, you have a problem!" Gladiolus called after him in an attempt at reason.

"Bugger off, Gladio!"

"Ooooh, snap! You really gonna take that?" Prompto crowed from the tail end of the chase.

Gladiolus bit down on a few choice curses reserved for each of them and pumped his legs faster. If Ignis thought he wasn't going to body slam him to the floor just because they were friends, then he'd better start rethinking the boundaries of their relationship.

Gladiolus was just gaining enough ground on him to make the leap when Ignis suddenly ground to a halt. Gladiolus barely had time to hit the brakes before bumping into his back – and Prompto, likewise, collided into him. Ignis hissed a warning through gritted teeth and gestured sharply for them all to get against the wall.

Voices drifted from the next hall over. Against Ignis's warning, Prompto and Gladiolus clambered around him to poke their heads around the corner. Regis and Noctis – with an entourage of Cor and Umbra – were passing through the next hall. Noctis looked sullen – it wasn't a secret to anyone that his birthday was his least favorite time of the year. Regis was speaking in a deliberate monotone about his daily Council meeting to lull his son into a state of such boredom that he wouldn't suspect any sort of surprise was imminent.

"They're headed to the hall?" Prompto whispered.

Gladiolus checked the time on his phone. "Yeah, it's just about time."

Ignis stiffened and said, in a horrified whisper, "We're going to be late."

"Seriously? _That_ snapped him out of it?" Prompto said in exasperation.

The king and his son slipped out of sight, and the three friends started to retreat back the way they came – Prompto knew a short-cut to the dining hall. They darted through the dressing room again and found the side door for the hall. Nyx Ulric was posted as the guard for that entrance. He leaned tiredly to the side of the door, nibbling on a snack – chocolate-covered pretzels – from a paper bag. Upon seeing Ignis, he lifted said bag in some kind of silent toast.

"Are we late?" Ignis asked.

"Right on time. I'm surprised you didn't get here earlier. Aren't you, like, neurotically punctual?"

"He's neurotic about something alright," Prompto mumbled.

Nyx didn't ask and just gestured to the door. "Enjoy the party."

"You as well," Ignis said.

Nyx smiled. "We're all looking forward to it. Thanks in advance."

"Dinner for the glaive, too?" Gladiolus asked as they headed inside.

"Of course. It's only fair."

They managed to sneak inside before Noctis and his father arrived. Luna had been looking for them, craning her head over the modest group that was assembled. When she spotted them, her whole frame loosened in relief.

They had just enough time to settle into position before the doors spread open.


	7. Friends, Family, & Fireworks

Friends, Family, & Fireworks

When he woke up that morning, he thought, _It's going to be a good day._ It was one of those mornings they opened kids' movies with: golden sunlight drifted through the curtains, the city noise was muted beyond, and he could almost imagine birds chirping in the distance. It was one of those rare, perfect mornings that actually made you _want_ to enter the world rather than hide from it.

It was such a nice morning that he actually made eye contact with the servants he passed.

It was such a nice morning that he was actually able to smile when he met his father for breakfast.

It was _too_ nice of a morning, which was why his father had to go and ruin it with a well-meaning, "Happy birthday, Noct."

It was a struggle to keep the smile from collapsing completely. He wasn't as good at faking it as Regis was and the king saw through him in an instant. The quickest flash of guilt flickered through the old man's eyes, but not quick enough to escape Noctis or spare him from feeling his own guilt.

"It won't be so bad," Regis assured him, and Noctis faked the smile as best he could, all through breakfast, to convince his father that he believed him.

It never worked. Breakfast consisted of omelets and evasions; lots of awkward comments about the news and other brainless conversation fillers. Each failed topic starter was divided by plains of silence that even had the omnipresent guards fidgeting. Noctis couldn't finish his meal fast enough, and even after he finally did, he couldn't escape Regis and the tense bubble of unsaid woes he brought with him.

"Is your birthday really so horrible?" Regis asked, hobbling along beside Noctis as they walked the halls.

An entire childhood of birthdays spent wishing for more than the monetary mountain of compensation for an absent father was not so easily shaken off, but he didn't need to tell Regis what he already knew. Noctis outgrew the disappointment of his birthday when he was thirteen, but he never outgrew the dread. The only thing he had to associate with his birthday was a mirage of niceties from strangers, familiar and not, that left him feeling hollow inside. It wasn't so much his father anymore; it was everyone else.

"I don't look forward to the double helping of people tripping over themselves to please me," he said, trying to put it as delicately as possible – but the bitterness was hard to mask.

"Don't appreciate being spoiled? I suppose that means I must have done something right, raising you."

While he intended it as a joke, Noctis couldn't bring himself to laugh or meet his father's gaze. Regis lapsed into a solemn silence then, and for a while the only sound in the hall was the click of his cane against the floor.

"I have to meet with the Council this morning," he said, making Noctis shrink beneath the collar of his jacket – he'd heard those words far too often. "But, I'd like to meet up for dinner later. Today's the dawn of a new decade for you; your first spent as a man grown. That's got to be cause for _some_ celebration."

"It's not like it'll be any better than the first two decades."

It ended up sounding more accusing than Noctis had intended. He bit down on his lip too late to catch the words before they escaped. He ended up flinching more than Regis did. The king just smiled, sad and quiet, like he always did when he disappointed his son. It made Noctis want to scream.

"It might surprise you," Regis replied.

A mercy bestowed by the gods themselves was sent to distract them then. A bark greeted them from down the hall and Umbra trotted up to meet his master. There was an un-occupied leash trailing after him and a few specks of baking powder dusted his fur. Got into the kitchens again.

"Up to no good Umbra?" Noctis said, crouching down to catch the dog's head and letting him lick his face.

"There's one good thing about it," Regis added. "It marks the start of another decade spent with him."

"Don't use my weakness to prove your point. That's cheating."

Noctis unhooked the battered leash from Umbra's collar and beckoned for him to follow. The big dog wagged his tail and padded after the prince.

"Is that the secret?" Regis chuckled. "Use the dog to make my case?"

"I'm gonna regret saying that, aren't I?"

"Only if you like being right."

Regis paused as they rounded the corner, forcing Noctis to stop and look at him. The king's gaze was full of past regrets. It made a knot form in Noctis's throat, one that he could barely keep from unraveling until he was alone.

"Do try to enjoy your day, son," Regis entreated.

"It's only a day, like all the rest."

The air was growing suffocating, and it was all he could do not to run from his father when he finally left him to go meet with his Council. Noctis hurried through the halls, Umbra loping at his heels, until he found a quiet place to breathe. His search rewarded him with an empty sitting room. He closed himself inside, collapsed on the nearest couch, and pressed his palms to his eyes so hard that he saw spots. He just had to keep it together for one day. He'd been keeping it together his whole life; he could manage one day. Especially if he could just hide in here and not see another soul for the rest of it.

Sensing his discontent, Umbra sidled up to the prince and rested his head in his lap. Noctis obliged him with a scratch behind the ears, hoping to siphon off some of Umbra's calm for himself.

 _Try to enjoy it_ , Regis had said.

 _Try to relax_ , Noctis interpreted. Taking a deep breath, he ended up doing the thing that usually relaxed him the least: checked social media. There was an onslaught of birthday messages waiting for him from a million people he'd never met. Some were even from news publishers that built their careers from slandering his family name. Fewer were private messages from some pen-pals of his, and those were the ones he lingered on.

When he had the opportunity to travel, he'd made a few local friends in foreign countries when befriending the nobility was impossible. He got a matching set of messages from the rose-haired sisters in Neworld: "Love from me" and "A punch from me." The scrappy blond duo from Dalmasca passed on a promise to "steal you a ride on the Strahl the next time you're in Rabanastre." He got an extremely explicit message from the Empress of Wutai – the only noblewoman he cared to get along with.

All of the personalized messages were a nice change from the empty staples on his public page, but they made him miss his friends beyond Lucis. Not that he didn't value the friends he had within his own borders, but he wished he could just take those three and run off to meet the others; go somewhere where the people didn't owe him insincere social platitudes. Noctis closed his phone when he finished sending his thanks and flopped back on the couch. Tracing the designs on the ceiling quickly turned to dreaming of a road-map where all lines lead to a home he didn't know he had.

He wasn't sure when he dozed off or for how long, just that he woke up like the shot he was sure he heard outside. He stumbled over Umbra as he rushed to his feet and out the door. A terrible image of his father bleeding out on his birthday conjured itself up in Noctis's mind. What if this was the one? What if this was the assassination they'd always feared? What if this was the bullet that killed the king?

The corners and corridors whipped by in blurs until he finally stumbled across Regis. For a blissful second, Noctis thought he'd dreamed the loud bang, but the look of irate displeasure on Cor's face made him reconsider. If Cor was anything other than in a perpetual state of vague annoyance, then something was wrong.

"I thought I heard a gunshot," Noctis said, hurrying up to Regis and searching him for any sign of injury. "Are you alright? What was that sound?"

For a moment, the two men gave him matching stares that he couldn't decipher, and his stomach dropped with worry before Regis simply said, "Just a little target practice." He went on to explain that the kingsglaive needed to temporarily change shooting venues, but Noctis hardly heard him. The words were drummed out by the pounding of his own heart in his ears. It slowly started to recede the longer he watched Regis's mouth move enough to convince Noctis that he was, in fact, safe.

"Having a nice day?" he finally heard.

Noctis grunted and moved on. Yeah, he was fine if he was already asking about his birthday again. Wide awake and no longer hidden in his safe space, Noctis wandered the property, waiting for the inevitability of someone wishing him a happy birthday. Strangely, each person he passed didn't pass on the expected sentiment, but rather quickly diverted their gazes from his face and unsuccessfully tried covering chuckles. The more often that it happened, the more confused Noctis became, until, finally, he was approached by a sympathetic serving girl.

"Um, Your Highness?" she greeted with a shy curtsy. "I'm not sure if you're aware, but, um… you have something on your face…"

Noctis's brow furrowed and he searched his immediate vicinity for any kind of reflective surface. The nearest was a window into one of the ballrooms, and he found himself facing a clownish, whiskered version of himself.

"Prompto," he sighed, bumping his head against the glass, too tired by the day to even feel mortified.

"Can I help you clean up, My Lord?"

"No, I'll deal with it. Thanks for bringing it to my attention."

"Of course, sir. Oh, and happy birthday, My Lord!"

Lucky he was already walking away or she might hear how hard his teeth ground together.

Washing the black marker off of his face took way longer than he had hoped. His skin was raw by the time he managed to scrub out the last, residual smudges. When he left the bathroom, the day was just beginning to fade – he found that relieving; the sooner it was over, the better. He passed a pair of glaives on his way out, one drooling over the others description of some cheese-stuffed pepper before snapping to attention before the prince. Noctis didn't ask after their conversation – even though it sounded delicious – and went on his way.

Seeing that the day was nearly out, Noctis wondered after his friends. While Prompto had left evidence of his presence on Noctis's face, the prince hadn't seen him or Gladiolus or Ignis all day. If he wanted to see anybody on his birthday, it was those three – maybe they at least could have made surviving it more bearable. Noctis spent the next hour looking for them, but the only other soul he found was Umbra, who finally caught up with him since his flight from the sitting room.

Noctis's mood darkened considerably when he was unsuccessful. None of his friends were in their usual places – even Ignis's bustling domain was a ghost town. Suspicion skewed Noctis's search, and he kept glancing down at Umbra as if the dog was keeping the secret of his absent friends behind those yellow eyes. When Regis found him wandering the halls, Noctis grew doubly suspicious.

"You're out of your meeting," he said, bemused.

"By some miracle, yes."

Cor was in his usual position at the king's flank and the strangest thing was happening with his mouth. It almost looked like there was a smile there. It was horrifying.

"Ready for dinner?" Regis asked, his own smile creasing the corners of his eyes.

"Um… sure." Noctis cast his gaze back the way he'd come on his fruitless route, but no familiar faces materialized.

If Regis noticed the malaise that befell his son, he didn't point it out. He narrated their way to the dining hall with an overly detailed summary of his latest Council meeting. Noctis occasionally glanced up to watch him talk, wondering why he was talking about the one thing Noctis hated more than his birthday. His father wasn't usually this insufferably dull. Nor did he find the topic of the Council very amusing, which begged the question: Why was he smiling?

When the closed dining hall doors crept into view, Noctis's stomach opened into a bottomless pit that swallowed him whole from the inside out. It all clicked for him then – his missing friends, his father's secretive smile: there was a surprise party waiting for him behind those doors.

Historically, Regis's idea of a party was the opposite of Noctis's tastes. The king invited dignitaries, politicians, covert business associates, and any of their children to accost his son with a million questions and marriage proposals. They were loud, blinding events, full of press coverage and bleached white grins.

Noctis's jaw grew stiffer the closer they came to the doors. If they opened and the first thing he saw was a camera flash, he knew he was going to scream. That anxiety attack which had been building for twenty years was finally going to happen. He could look forward to a straight-jacket instead of a slice of cake before the night was over.

They reached the doors, Regis pushed them in, and Noctis braced for the breakdown.

"Surprise!"

…And he was surprised. At just how _quiet_ it was. At how _small_ the group of guests were. How familiar. There was Clarus and Iris; "Uncle" Cid and his grand-daughter; Luna and her lady-in-waiting; and Ignis, Prompto, and Gladiolus, all looking a little out-of-breath and relieved to be present. And that was it. There were no dukes or duchesses or photographers, just friends, family, and a feast. There were silver streamers on the walls and bouquets of dark blue balloons tied to chairs. There was a big white banner over the head of the table with "HAPPY BIRTHDAY" printed across it. Mounted beneath it was a big picture frame filled with a collage of cut-out photographs from Prompto's camera. It was surrounded by a handful of nicely-wrapped presents, all with tags from names he actually cared to know.

Noctis was stunned. It was the simplest, smallest, plainest party he'd ever seen… and it was beautiful. Regis put a hand on his shoulder, and this time, when he said "happy birthday" Noctis knew it really meant something.

Since he was too shocked to make himself move, Iris took it upon herself to help him along. She darted over to him, as sleek as a leopard cub in her pretty dress, and took him by the wrist. "Come on, we can't start eating without you, and I'm starving!"

"Oh, right, I've got the music to match!" Cindy suddenly remembered, popping over to a stereo set up in the corner.

She clicked play and a lilting indie rock ballad slipped through the hall, filling it with an under-stated energy that buoyed the bubbles of conversation throughout the night. Ignis had out-done himself with the cooking, as usual – a good chunk of the meal consisted of erotic moans around mouthfuls of hors d'oeuvres.

"Most of the cooking went to the staff dinners," he heard Ignis say when Prompto asked what kept him busy all day.

"Oh, that reminds me…"

Gladiolus excused himself from the buffet for a moment to visit one of the side doors to the hall. There was a glaive stationed on the other side – Nyx, if Noctis remembered correctly. He couldn't hear what they were saying from the other side of the room, but their expressions were wicked with delight. Gladiolus presented the screen of his phone to Nyx and the glaive made some gesture over it. (Later, Gladiolus would share the digitally autographed troll article of Malboro News.) Umbra trotted up to the pair and Noctis just saw Nyx's face turn into a grimace before he was distracted by a nudge to his side.

"Do me a favor and make sure you compliment Iris by the end of the night," Luna whispered. "Your opinion is quite important to her."

"Should I really be doing you favors?" Noctis countered, smiling wryly and nodding at the center picture featured in Prompto's collage. "After you sabotaged me?"

"I swear, I was under the influence!" Luna laughed. "Prompto is absolutely addictive, I am so jealous that you get to have him every day."

"Don't let me hear that you tried smuggling him out of the country in your clutch when you go back tomorrow."

"Not making any promises."

She gave him a coy look before hiding the conspiracies of her smile in her glass of champagne. Every corner of the dining hall was brightened by smiling faces. Gladiolus teased Nyx in the doorway as Umbra tried jumping up on his hind-legs to lick the glaive's face. Prompto and Cid were snorting booze through their noses at something Gentiana said – whatever it was could never be gleaned from the woman's straight face. Ignis was graciously accepting compliments on his culinary prowess from Clarus and Regis, pushing at his glasses as if the glint of light off of them could hide the blush on his cheeks. Iris and Cindy were debauching Cor's dignity by dragging him into the middle of the room to dance.

When Noctis caught Iris's eye, he made sure to tip his glass to her. She blushed like a school-girl and shoved Cor along that much harder. Favor done, Noctis glanced back at Luna and took a moment to admire her. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her, just that however long ago it was had been too long.

"You look good," he said, because "I missed you" was far too sad a saying for such a pleasant party.

"And you look happy," Luna noted, misty-blue gaze wistful. "Is it the champagne playing tricks on me, or do I detect a smile on your face?"

Noctis didn't even try to hide it, even laughing in spite of himself. "I guess I am happy… You know how sometimes you don't know how badly you need something until you've got it?"

Luna followed his gaze as it traveled the room, lingering on each and every face. She smiled and, so delicately that he almost didn't feel it, touched his hand. "Happy birthday, Noct."

Having left Prompto and Cid in a state of malfunction, Gentiana appeared before the royally intended. She passed on her best wishes to Noctis and then, extended her hand to the princess with a perfectly exaggerated bow.

"May I have this dance, My Lady?"

Luna accepted and allowed the woman to spin her out onto the impromptu dance floor. There was a flash off to the side which blinded the prince's view for a moment. When he turned, Prompto was just lowering his phone from a snapshot.

"Yes! Almost missed it," he said, pumping a fist in triumph. "Gotta catch that smile when you can!"

"Surprised you still have space on that thing," Gladiolus teased as he came up from behind Prompto, briefly admiring his work over his shoulder before passing him. "The amount of pictures you take must kill that thing."

"Half of them are for Ignis's food Instagram."

"For the hundredth time, I'm _not_ starting one of those!" Ignis objected, coming up to Noctis's side.

"I'm telling ya, you'd be _Insta_ -famous."

Anyone who wasn't Prompto groaned. Thankfully, they were all spared from another mortifying pun by a loud pop and fizzle from outside. Everyone crowded out onto the balcony to see the fireworks brightening the night sky. They burst across the starry canvas like midnight flowers blooming in the moonlight.

"Don't your friends down in Neworld have a tradition that goes with fireworks?" Ignis asked between bursts.

"That you can make a wish on them?" Noctis looked around at the people on the balcony. "Can't think of anything I might wish for."

"I've got something!" Prompto chirped, leaning on the balustrade. "I wish that we'll always be like this; together and happy and having fun."

"I can get behind that," Gladiolus agreed with his lop-sided grin.

While they were making their wishes, Noctis caught his father's eye over the heads of his friends. He'd been watching Noctis for most of the night, assessing whether or not the festivities were to his liking. Finally, Noctis could give him a smile that was truly grateful for everything he'd done. The king's weary face lit up in reply to the silent gratitude. To immortalize that happiness, of course, Prompto insisted on a photo.

"Crowd around everyone, I'm sure I can fit everyone in here!"

Suddenly, Noctis was squished on both sides by the small group, clustering behind Prompto and the lens he had faced to them. He scrutinized his phone screen and gave a few directions to get everyone in the shot. Once he was satisfied, he announced, "Okay, on three, everyone say 'happy birthday, Noct.'"

In perfect unison, Noctis's companions parroted Prompto's instructions. Noctis would cherish that picture for the rest of his life. Friends, family, and fireworks; the memory of his happiness on that night would drive him through countless challenges. It gave him hope, even in the darkest of times, that one day they would all be that happy again. And they'd share it together.


End file.
